


Two Words

by LiteratiAngel92



Category: Shameless (UK)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 07:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30136164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiteratiAngel92/pseuds/LiteratiAngel92
Summary: "He wants her. God, he wants her. In her pink top, in her red dress. Totally. Fucking. Naked. He’d have her every which way he could. But he can’t. She won’t. They wouldn’t. Until he can. She will. They would. They do."Steve McBride knows what he wants, and what he wants is Fiona Gallagher. Shameless (pun intended) good old fashioned PWP with a little bit of angsty!Steve thrown in for good measure at the end.Language throughout, unabashed smut from fairly early on. I've pulled no punches.
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher/Steve McBride





	Two Words

**Author's Note:**

> I have a bit of a kink for floppy-haired, baby-faced James McAvoy. (Who doesn't?) After a binge-watch of season 1 of Shameless last night, I couldn't get rid of this idea, so I wrote it up (any excuse to rewatch Steve and Fiona's first time several times over...) A bit more (slightly spoilery - to this plot, not really the show) info at the end for context.

**Two Words**

He wants her. God, he wants her. In her pink top, in her red dress. _Totally. Fucking. Naked._ He’d have her every which way he could. But he can’t. She won’t. They wouldn’t. Until he can. She will. They would. _They do._

All it takes is a head full of glass; so bloody worth it as far as he’s concerned. When she smiles at him, he just knows that he’s in with a chance, and that’s all it takes... Well, that and an ill-conceived punch on a spunk-faced bouncer’s nose. Still, makes him look scrappier than he is. _Harder_ than he is. _Fuck._

Her family’s bloody huge. He’s taken aback at first, really, just how many there are. His family’s so...clinical. In every sense of that word. It’s a shock to the system to see the protectiveness they have for each other, so unlike his own. Still, he thinks - _knows_ \- that with a bit of effort, he’ll fit right in. The way she looks at him. Makes him giddy. Makes him confident. Maybe this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. It won’t be if he has anything to say about it. _And he’ll say just about anything at this point..._

Finally - _blissfully_ \- they all piss off to bed and he’s alone with her. She doesn’t say anything when he stays; just accepts it, as if they’ve already had this discussion and it’s a foregone conclusion that she’s not kicking him out. Not tonight. Not now. Oh, the things he wants to do to her in that goddamn dress... But he’s patient... _ish._ Calm... _in a way. Ok, he’s absolutely fucking desperate._ But _she_ doesn’t have to know that.

The first touch, his hand on hers, is when he thinks he can have her. When she doesn’t let go, though, that’s when he knows she’s his. Then there’s those two unsatisfying words again: ‘we can’t’. _For fuck’s sake._

He honestly doesn’t know what makes him so cocky in that moment. Maybe it’s his cock doing all the talking... But suddenly, she’s against the kitchen counter, and he’s against her undoing his belt. Talking her round. Persuading her to take the leap that he just _knows_ they both want to take. The way she looks at him...it’s enough to make him come right there and then. All want and need and _fuuuuck..._ She isn’t saying ‘stop’, and there’s her hand, slipping down the front of his boxers. Touching him. Oh god, the feel of her hand on his cock... They haven’t even kissed yet. He hisses in a breath. It’s now or never.

When their lips finally meet, he never wants it to end. The way she crashes against him, her body rough on his, her lips attacking him, taking him, taking control, taking whatever she wants. Taking his shirt off. He wants to savour it, though. ‘Slower’. _God, please, slow down. Take your time._

The next kiss... _oh_ , the next kiss is everything he wants it to be. Sensual. His hands on her waist, pulling her in. Her hands in his hair, on his neck, his chest. Still, there’s far too many clothes in between them, and he’ll do just about anything to rectify that. He reaches for the zip on the back of her dress; it pulls down smoothly as if it too wants this to happen and can’t bear the thought of getting in the way. She isn’t wearing a bra and that fact alone almost does for him, to the point where he has to take a step back. To look at them, at her. To see if he can actually believe his luck. He can’t, and there’s another one of those bloody two-word sentences again, only this time, he adds another: ‘I will’. _And he does._

Stroking her shoulders softly, he brings a hand down her arm, slowly, gently; his fingers barely grazing her skin in small, circular motions until he finally reaches her tits. He thumbs a nipple and watches in some kind of transfixed awe as she throws her head back and smiles. He wonders what else she likes, and decides to find out. Latching his mouth onto her breast, he takes the opportunity to let his hands wander, stroking her stomach - _ticklish there_ \- skimming her hips, her thighs, until he’s up and under her skirt. Her knickers are soaking wet and he chuckles against her nipple, enjoying the moment of knowing that he is the cause of it, before releasing her tits and dropping to the floor to let his mouth join his hands. He tears her underwear off with his teeth - _so much for ‘slower’_ \- and buries his tongue in her. She tastes... _ah,_ he doesn’t even know. He just knows that he can hear her moaning, that he can feel her hands slipping back into his hair, pulling, tugging... _Don’t stop!_ He doesn’t. 

He licks at her folds, at her clit, like a man starved. He wants her to let go, to give in to him. She does. _Hard._ Her come floods his mouth, his senses. She’s hot for him, as he is for her. She pulls him up to her, her mouth on his again. He knows she must be tasting herself on his lips, and that thought, coupled with the hand that’s making it’s way back to his cock, is enough to make him primal. She rips his trousers down, his boxers follow, and he’s naked and she’s pretty much there too, although some weird part of him decides that the dress is now a bit of a kink for him so he doesn’t let her take it all the way off. They crash across the kitchen, not even thinking about direction, or noise, or any other sense but each other. 

The next thing he knows, they’re on the floor and she’s lowering herself onto him. All thoughts of ‘slower’ have gone totally out of the fucking window. She crashes herself against him, bouncing up and down on him and screaming bliss in his ear. The cold floor slaps against his naked arse as she drags her nails across his back in some desperate bid for purchase. He clutches at her, pulling her closer to him, supposedly just seating her better in his lap but it’s really just an excuse to touch more of her as she clenches against him. His hand finds the nearest kitchen drawer - cutlery, apparently, from the way it rattles as he nearly yanks it out of the unit - and he holds onto it, and her, for dear life. 

His head bashes against the cupboard, over and over again. Worth the concussion. Worth the hand injury too, as she clutches his hand and pushes the drawer back onto his fingers. _Doesn’t matter._ It gives him the push to wrap both arms around her again and pull her closer to him. He smiles and buries his face in her breasts as she throws her head back and cries out. _‘Nearly, nearly, nearly!’_ Over and over again so he knows exactly what his touch is doing to her, how close she is. How much _she_ wants _him_ too...

He is _right there._ Just about to spill himself into her...when there’s a knock at the door. _Knock knock_ ; just another unsatisfying two-word sentence...

_..._

He lets his eyes flutter open. He’s in his bedroom, alone, his hand clutching his cock; just as unsatisfied as he had been then. Just a fantasy, a memory of the first time she cried out his name in pleasure, the first time he felt the warmth of her skin and her lips on his.

He misses her. God, he misses her. In her pink top. In her red dress. _Totally. Fucking. Naked._ He still wants her every which way he can. But he can’t. She won’t. They wouldn’t. _Not now._

For now, he’ll have to settle for the memory of their second time, when they really did take it _‘slower’_... The time he first realised he was in love with her.

**Author's Note:**

> For context (in case I haven't actually made it clear to anyone who doesn't live in my head), although this is ostensibly set during the first episode of season 1, ultimately, it's Steve's recollection of it during some alone time when he's away from Fiona in season 2. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
